Secret Baby: A Second Chance Navy SEAL Romance (Forbidden First Times Book 4)

by Sofia T Summers

  Firstly, Benjamin. What the hell had I been thinking, attacking him like a total slut? I sighed inwardly as I recalled the exact moment I hadn’t been able to resist him – when he’d told me that he loved me, that he’d never stopped loving me. I’d fallen for that saying hook, line, and sinker, and it had sent my body reeling into a world of lust and arousal that I’d previously only imagined in my dreams.

  Secondly, work. My performance had been slipping so much lately that I knew it was only a matter of time before Donna, as understanding as she was, decided that I was no longer a good fit for the radio station. I’d left today without saying a word to anyone, and then I hadn’t even come back in to apologize at the end of the day. Better make a double batch of those cupcakes, I thought with a wince as I pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store. I’m gonna need to apologize, somehow.

  The store was packed, with a sea of people maneuvering carts through crowded aisles and shooting dagger glares at their fellow shoppers.

  “Mommy, it’s so busy,” Olive said. She giggled. “What if everyone here is making cupcakes?!”

  “I hope they’re not,” I said as lightly as I could manage. “Mommy will be in deep doo-doo if she forgets your un-birthday treats for tomorrow.”

  Olive giggled again.

  “Stick right by me,” I told her firmly. “I don’t want you getting lost and going home with another family, you hear me?”

  Olive nodded. Her smile faded but there was a bright light in her eyes as we walked around the store in desperate search of the baking aisle. Once there, I practically had to hold her down – she leapt straight into a display of pink boxed cake mix and almost sent dozens of boxes crashing to the ground. I grabbed the necessities – eggs, cake mix, food coloring, and icing – then made a beeline for the register where Olive and I waited at least fifteen minutes for the cashier to finish ringing up the elderly man in front of us.

  As soon as we got home, I was so wrung out that the last thing I felt like doing was making cupcakes. I needed a nap, or else I felt like I was going to collapse on my feet. But Olive had gotten her second wind – she was zooming and running around the living room, cackling and singing to herself – and all I could manage was a few moments of rest on the couch.

  If today had been any other day, I would have called Jared – he was the only adult I knew who had energy as boundless as Olive’s. But I was in need of some serious girl talk, and instead I called Henny.

  “You want me to come over now,” she asked skeptically. “I was just about to throw something together for dinner.”

  “I really, really need to talk to you,” I said, only half-paying attention to the conversation as I scanned the back of the cake box for the list of ingredients.

  “Oh, shit!” I cried.

  “What is it?” Henny asked. “Oh my god, what happened?”

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Olive cheered from the living room.

  I felt like groaning and sinking into the floor.

  “Mommy said a bad word, honey,” I called to Olive as I covered the receiver speaker with my hand. “Please don’t repeat that. It’s a very, very bad word.”

  Olive opened her mouth to sass me and I narrowed my eyes at her until she clamped her lips together.

  Returning to Henny, I groaned.

  “I have to make cupcakes for Olive’s pre-school tomorrow and I totally forgot the vegetable oil. Can you bring some over? The store was such a mess – I can’t handle going back out there.”

  “No problem,” Henny said. She sounded concerned. “Are you okay?”

  I sighed. “I’ll tell you about it when you get here,” I muttered. “Just hurry up, okay?”

  I sat on the couch and tried to catch my breath while waiting for Henny to arrive with the vegetable oil and a listening hear. Olive was still off her rocker – singing songs from Alice in Wonderland and tearing through her closet for the perfect un-birthday outfit. If I hadn’t been so wiped, confused, and frazzled I would have normally enjoyed helping her find just the right dress but as it was, I could hardly even think about my own day, let alone Olive’s.

  Henny showed up with a bottle of wine and vegetable oil. We got to work on the cupcakes – Henny was able to swirl the food dye into perfect rainbow spirals – and once they were in the oven, we sat down at the kitchen table with two glasses of wine.

  “You look like you had a rough day,” Henny said. She sipped her wine. “What happened?”

  “I ...” I trailed off, then heaved a huge sigh. After taking a big gulp of my wine, I looked down at my lap.

  “I slept with Benjamin.”

  “What?” Henny practically shrieked. I quickly looked up at her and put my finger to my lips.

  I swallowed. “It ... it just happened,” I said weakly. “He showed up at the station and said that we needed to talk so we drove out into the country and I was so effing mad, so pissed that I just exploded at him and then I ... I don’t know. It just happened.”

  Henny pressed her lips together. “Hurricanes happen,” she said. “Tax dates happen. Sex ... well, that’s kind of between two consenting adults, isn’t it?”

  I felt about three inches tall.

  “How could you do something like that,” Henny asked, sounding shocked. “You were so angry at him!”

  I held my breath. It was a rare moment when, in front of Henny, I didn’t feel like I could tell the whole truth. We had been best friends for so long, gone through so much together, that I was used to her practically reading my mind. Even though we were different people in many ways, we’d always respected each other.

  I wondered – if I were to tell her the truth, right now, what would she think of me? Would her opinion totally change?

  “Jess,” Henny said, this time more gently. She reached over and patted my shoulder. “It’s okay – I’m not like, mad, or anything. I’m just surprised. That’s all.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m fine,” I lied. “I think it was just hormones,” I said as lightly as I could manage. “Well, hormones and old lust,” I added, raising an eyebrow.

  Henny didn’t say anything – she kept holding my gaze and for one of the first times in my life, I felt myself blush.

  “It was one minute we were just riding in his car together, and when I realized where we were going – where he was taking me, more like, it felt like old times again. We went out to the lookout in the woods, and before I knew it, I just ... I couldn’t stop myself.” I had to stop talking because as the words were coming out of my mouth, an image popped into my head – Ben and me, tangled and sweaty, in the back of his Land Rover just like we’d done back in college so many times.

  “I’m not proud,” I said finally. “I really wish that it hadn’t happened,” I added, unsure whether I was telling the truth. “But like, I don’t know. Maybe it was necessary. For closure.”

  Henny blushed beet red.

  “Jess, I think sex is the last thing you need right now,” she said. “Or at least, sex with Ben.”

  I swallowed. “I’m never fucking anyone else,” I said, lowering my voice so that Olive wouldn’t hear. “Or at least, I’m not doing that – not until I finally get over Ben and the heartbreak he gave me.”

  In that moment, I believed it was true. Maybe we really had gotten the necessary closure – maybe I’d finally be able to move on and have a happy life with someone else.

  Or at least, a life that didn’t leave me feeling lonely and vulnerable all the time. Olive needed a father, but she needed the right kind of father. A dad who would care for and protect her. A dad who wouldn’t be afraid to get down on the ground and play Barbie tea party for hours and a dad who would take her out in the back yard and play softball when she was older.

  Ben wasn’t that man. He’d left, for years, and I knew that no matter how much chemistry still existed between us, I could never trust him again.

  20

  Benjamin

  I had never been a man of emotional spontan
eity, except for where Jessie was concerned, and now I was beginning to realize that perhaps she was more than just a blind spot – she was the stunning sun, a person of such overwhelming charm and radiance that it was nearly impossible to stay on track when she was around.

  If I had to make things right between us, I had to change that.

  So, I spent a couple of days, thinking, just by myself. I sat in my condo and worked out. I went running in the woods. I thought of every possible angle, every possible outcome of the situation. What if I sat down with Jessie and told her explicitly how I felt only to have her respond that other than our tryst in the woods, she was quite happy and content with her life?

  Would that be enough for me? Would I be okay to shake her hand and walk away?

  I had to be – otherwise, this wouldn’t work. Otherwise, this was more about me than it was about the two of us, and I didn’t want that.

  So, several days after I’d seen her, I called her with a plan in mind.

  “Hello?” Jessie asked when she answered. It sounded like I had caught her mid-giggle, and I swallowed hard.

  “It’s me,” I said. “Benjamin.”

  “Oh,” she replied.

  “Would you see me,” I continued in a sobering voice. “I need to talk to you. Really talk this time, you know, not just ...” I trailed off as a powerful memory of the two of us in the Land Rover came rushing back.

  Jessie laughed shortly. “You mean fuck?”

  I rolled my eyes and suppressed a loud groan.

  “Have dinner with me on Saturday,” I said. “Anywhere you want.”

  Jessie laughed again. “No,” she said. “Lunch. Friday, instead.”

  I frowned – it was clear from her response that she was still hiding something from me. Did she have a man? If she did, I was starting to wonder just how serious things were between them. It was becoming very clear to me that I had a long road to climb before I could make any real progress with her.

  “Okay,” I said finally. “Lunch. Friday.” I paused for a moment. “Where would you like to go?”

  “A lot’s changed around here since you left,” Jessie said softly. There was a catch in her voice and I strained to hear if she’d say anything else.

  “I know,” I said finally. “Pick a place. Book a table in my name. I’ll pick you up from work, okay?”

  “Okay,” Jessie said softly. Then, she cleared her throat and when she spoke again, her voice was its normal, buoyant self. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

  “See you,” I echoed.

  When we hung up, I frowned. I wondered if maybe I wasn’t overthinking this after all – it was clear that she didn’t want to spend a ton of time with me, or else she’d have agreed to dinner.

  Or maybe, it was because she was curious to hear me out just so she could reject me again. I groaned and put my face in my hands. Massaging my temples, I wished that I’d asked her out today instead of having to wait.

  I got up to get some water from the fridge and my phone was buzzing across the table when I got back.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said as I swiped open the call. “What is it?”

  “Oh my goodness,” my mother chirped. “Aren’t you in a good mood!”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I’d love for you to come over for dinner tonight,” she said. “Your father and I would love to see you,” she continued. “And you can bring that charming fiancée of yours!”

  “She’s sick,” I lied, immediately picturing Jessie sitting at my parents’ dinner table with an amused smirk on her face. “She can’t make it.”

  “Are you going to keep this charming woman away from me forever,” my mother continued in another rhetorical question. “You can’t, you know!”

  “I know,” I said drily. “But trust me, you don’t want to catch this.”

  “Well,” my mother said primly. “It’ll just be a quiet affair, then. See you at seven,” she sang.

  Before I even had the chance to decline the invitation, she hung up, and I groaned.

  Great, I thought. I hadn’t planned for my plan to start off with such a bang from my mother. Now, more than ever, I was nervous about talking to Jessie on Friday.

  Later that day, I drove over to my parents’ and parked in their big circular driveway. The day had been a pleasant one – overly warm, but now that the sun was setting, the air smelled like jasmine and honeysuckle. Figuring that my parents would be out in their massive backyard garden, I skipped the front door and walked around the side of the house.

  To my surprise, there was no one there. The solar lights shaped like little chili peppers were glowing in the darkness, and I heard a ripple of laughter coming from inside the house. I froze just as the motion sensor lights came on, and then my mother threw open the veranda doors and rushed outside.

  She blinked and cocked her head to the side when she saw me.

  “Benjamin, honey, what are you doing back here?”

  I cleared my throat. “It’s ... uh, a nice night,” I said. “I thought you guys would be back here.”

  My mother put her hands on her hips, managing to look surprisingly indignant.

  “Why, honey, no,” she drawled. “Did you think that you were the only one who we invited?”

  Now it was my turn to look confused, and I blinked at her.

  “Honey,” my mother said, rushing toward me and putting her small, dainty hands on my arm. “I invited Linda, you know – the florist! – and lots of other significant people whom y’all should be speaking with!”

  Oh Jesus fucking Christ, I thought. Now I’m really in for it.

  As I followed my mother through the rows of flowers towards the back entrance of the house, I wondered a strange thought – did she know that I was lying to her? Had Margot gone behind my back and said something? This was straight out of an improv routine – and now, I was going to have to dig myself in deeper with even more lies.

  That couldn’t be true, though. My mother, skilled socialite that she was, had never been a good actress. She was always the kind of person who believed exactly what she wanted to believe, and that was it. Now that the prodigal son had finally returned home, it was clearly time for me (in her eyes) to fulfill what she’d always wanted for me: marriage and children.

  I sighed under my breath as I followed my mother into the house. There wasn’t just a florist – I was introduced to a wedding planner, a photographer, a videographer, someone who would coordinate something called a “first look” which I didn’t quite understand the point of, a calligrapher for the invitations, a calligrapher for the seating arrangements, and a personal stylist. My godparents, whom I hadn’t seen in at least ten years, were standing there beaming and even my father was in high spirits.

  “And please, if Margot is on your side, do not let her wear a tux,” my mother hissed in my ear while keeping her smile firmly glued into place. “That girl always has to steal attention and she’s certainly not going to do it from my future daughter-in-law!”

  “How do you feel about all of this, Benjamin?”

  “What kind of flowers does she like? Be specific – scents, colors, shapes!”

  “Have you thought about a prenuptial agreement?”

  “What about a dress of cream with wedding colors cranberry and pumpkin? We could do the wedding in the fall!”

  It was, frankly, overwhelming and I excused myself to the bathroom where I sat down, fully clothed, on the closed toilet lid to put my face in my hands. I didn’t know shit about weddings. All of the SEALs I’d known who were married had gone through with quick jaunts to the courthouse or a meeting with a Navy chaplain. They hadn’t had to deal with all of this lace and ecru and twenty different types of lilies.

  Furthermore, when the truth was revealed to my parents, I couldn’t imagine Jessie wanting any of this. She wasn’t fussy – it wouldn’t be her style to demand a custom-made gown that cost thousands of dollars. I would have been happy to pay a
ny amount in the world to make her happy.

  But she was just not that kind of girl.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, my mother was waiting for me in the hallway with a gleam in her eye.

  “Everyone is enjoying canapes,” she said. “I thought I’d take this moment to talk privately with you about something important.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

  “Yes,” my mother said. She cleared her throat, then led me into my father’s study at the end of the hall. I hadn’t been inside in years – back when Margot and I were kids, it was always where our parents summoned us when we were in trouble. Now, decades later, I could still feel a nervous ripple pass through my stomach at the memory.

  My mother, however, briskly bypassed my father’s massive desk and the tiny, ladylike desk when she’d often sat to write letters. She walked over to the bookshelf and took hold of the edge of the painting nestled right in the middle – an oil portrait of my grandfather in his youth. With a neat, mechanical click, the painting swung open and revealed a large safe.

  “Give me a moment,” my mother said. I rolled my eyes but obliged her and turned around, tapping my toe as she fumbled with the combination lock. The safe was ancient – a relic from the early twentieth century – and the door clanged and groaned heavily as my mother pulled it open.

  From inside, she produced a tray of jewelry. She selected a few rings and set them down on my father’s desk.

  They were gigantic. Diamonds as big as glass shards glittered in yellow gold and platinum. Rubies and sapphires shone up at me and twinkled in the dim evening light that filtered in through the window.

  “I thought your fiancée might like a piece of our family history,” my mother said.

  When I didn’t answer, she added hesitantly: “What do you think?”